


Take Two

by Deshah



Category: Homestuck, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: ? Sort of?, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Short Chapters, Title Subject to Change, Trollstuck, Universal displacement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deshah/pseuds/Deshah
Summary: They don't know how and they don't know why; all they know is that they're trapped on planet Lord of the Flies with no way home. Their bodies are foreign to them and so, it seems, are their minds -- but Tim Drake swore to fight injustice, whatever its form, and Pru figures, hey, it's not that different from the League of Assassins.Or, Tim and Pru die in that hotel room, but the universe isn't quite done with them yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I didn't actually bother to come up with a logical explanation for this.

Pru wakes with a pounding headache and a spacial awareness she had not had when she had gone to sleep. Passed out. Same thing. Whatever. 

Hesitating to open her eyes on an unknown situation, she focused instead on her other senses. She’s enveloped in some sort of slime, which, for some reason, feels comforting and safe. She can sense, somehow, that she’s surrounded on all sides except a medium-sized hole almost directly above her head. Well, there goes the womb theory. She can hear, distantly, the bustle of a city. She can smell-- she can’t-- she’s not breathing. Oh god, _she’s not breathing--!_ Pru jolts up, opening her eyes and gasping in air as her head breaches the surface. Her breath comes hard and fast, at first, and she darts her eyes around without really taking in her surroundings. But something-- something’s weird… As her panic calms, Pru realizes what’s wrong: she’s not actually out of breath. Whatever this green goop is (Not lazerus waters, it’s not bright enough and she feels no murderous urges. No more than usual, anyway. Thank god.), it… somehow negates the need to breathe. And on that subject…

She is inside a dark red, rubbery container filled with lime green slime. Beyond it, she can see a beige ceiling and walls -- beige, seriously? --; the one she’s facing has racks of guns on it. The others are undecorated, beyond the army-green blackout curtains presumably hiding a window to the left. There’s a cheap-looking desk with a weird but recognisable computer on it in the open space to the right, an equally cheap-looking dresser-and-closet combo behind it, and… that’s it. It's like… somebody's really weird bedroom. It… actually, it reminds her a lot of her room back at the cradle. Just… bigger. Plus desk. 

Okay. Right then. Pru brings her hands up to rub at her face and-- they’re grey. They’re grey, and they have pointed yellow nails -- yellow on the inside, too, so it’s not just nail polish (and anyway her nails were cut as short as possible before this, so how--?) -- and they’re tiny. ...Really tiny. Child-sized. She’s shrunk, or-- she claps her hands to her breasts. Yep. De-aged. De-aged and grey. 

...Wonderful.

 

It’s been three days. Falling asleep outside the slime pod results in terrible nightmares. Sunlight literally burns her. There are books stacked behind the desk and in the tiny living room, written in a strange script which she is alarmed to find that she understands. (She doesn’t try to read them.) The food in her fridge-equivalent looks disgusting but tastes delicious and it hasn’t made her sick yet. So. 

The rest of her skin is as grey as her hands, and the little bathroom mirror shows her that her sclera is the same yellow as her nails, her irises are grey, and she has horns. She’s still bald.

Small mercies.

 

On day four, Pru works up the courage to investigate the computer, feeling foolish about her reeling and flinching and freakouts. She’s an assassin. She has no business acting like this. (Even if the last thing she remembers is Red Robin dragging her body to the ATV, even if everything about her body now is foreign, even if she’s stranded alone in a possibly hostile environment surrounded by weird grey people, even if her team is dead, even if--)

It takes her ten minutes of poking around to figure out how to turn the computer on. 

It's nothing outstanding. There's no password, and the background is just featureless dark green. There's only three icons, which surprisingly look the same as they would ...back then. One is a little black smiley face with horns, one some kind of snakey thing, and the third a scroll. That one turns out to be something like Microsoft Word, and she exits out of it after a couple minutes of fumbling. Not what she's looking for. The next thing she tries is squiggle-with-a-face, and this one turns out to be exactly what she wants. 

It's the internet. Well. Grey-people internet.

Now, to find a search engine.

 

Her first search word was _human_ , carefully sounded out and transcribed into this whatever-this-is language (she tries not to think about it too hard). She isn't expecting results. 

On day ten, she gets them.


End file.
